


Kiss Nine Times

by thingswithwings



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, CPR, Celebrations, Community: mcsmooch, Foot Fetish, Fuckbuddies, Kissing, M/M, Sex Pollen, sleepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-09
Updated: 2007-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:19:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of kisses I wrote for McSmooch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Nine Times

  
**1) Celebration**

Sheppard doesn't do celebration. After major crises are resolved at the last minute via startling heroics - something that happens on a fairly regular basis on Atlantis - Rodney's found himself hugged by Ford, by Elizabeth, by Ronon, by people he doesn't even know (but never by Sheppard). He's even gotten used to Miko's quick clasps and Radek's round-the-shoulders hard press and the way that Ambrose will sling a sweaty Swedish arm around his neck and shake Rodney into the crook of his elbow.

Rodney hates it, of course; he's not by nature the hugging kind, nor is the way that his colleagues smell after week-long emergencies particularly attractive close-up. But he's grown accustomed to it, to the way these bodies know his body, the way they all smell like each other.

He's grown accustomed to Sheppard's method of ecstatic celebration, too, which is typically signaled by him raising both eyebrows instead of one, or sometimes - sometimes - a little smile that slides slowly up one side of his face, almost incongruously. But Sheppard doesn't hug, or even shake hands the way some of the scientists and marines do. Not even that time that they were all on Ancient aphrodisiacs and they were celebrating having found an antidote to the Ancient aphrodisiacs.

So it's a surprise, after one of their little crises - just a tiny Replicator infestation, no big deal - when John kisses him.

They're in one of the labs, and Rodney's just created the New Improved Anti-Replicator beam that neutralized the threat, and he turns to John, expecting to see that little lopsided smile. But then Sheppard grabs him by the back of the neck, fingers brushing the little hairs at his nape, and kisses Rodney roughly on the forehead, once, hard, leaving some spit behind. It's bizarrely masculine and over too fast: Rodney doesn't quite realise what's happening until it's already done happening.

And Rodney's too honestly astonished and justifiably exhausted to come up with a response, so he just finds himself staring dumbly into Sheppard's eyes while a flush spreads across his cheeks. The place where John kissed him feels funny, like his skin is burning with this moment of joy that's been building up in Sheppard since they got to the Pegasus galaxy.

Sheppard stares back, and Rodney wonders if he'd have to go up on tiptoes to get his mouth on John's. The silence stretches out and starts to get weird.

Then Sheppard says "Good job, Rodney," in that husky, low voice of his, and leaves the lab, muttering something about checking on the personnel in the gateroom.

Rodney stays behind, fiddling with the AR-weapon. Even after he rubs the spittle from his forehead, his cheeks still feel hot.

  
 **2) maybe you mean symbolic**

“Oh god, _kiss_ me.”

“What?” John squints at Rodney and backs away.

Rodney looks up from the set of Ancient controls he’s meddling with, looking at John as if he’s only just realized that he’s standing there. “Huh?”

John blinks. It’s possible that he overreacted; that’s what military training will do to you. “Nothing.”

“No, you – oh, christ. I didn’t mean _literally_ , Colonel. I meant, you know, metaphorically or whatever.” A handwave, an eyeroll, and Rodney’s attention is back on the Ancient display screen.

Wait. “You want me to kiss you metaphorically?”

“Look, I found the solution to the problem, okay? It was an expression of happiness and self-satisfaction.”

“Oh.” John says, nodding. He wonders how you can kiss someone metaphorically. Like, does a metaphorical kiss represent, or stand in for, something else? In that sense, he supposes, all kisses are to some extent metaphorical, representing lust, or interest, or love, or affection, or whatever. Is that really a metaphor, though? If he _had_ kissed Rodney just now, it would’ve represented something. Celebration, maybe, or friendship, or the satisfaction of a job well done. In fact, in order for a kiss, or any other gesture, to be considered _non_ -metaphorical –

“Earth to Sheppard!” Whoops. John gets the feeling that Rodney’s been talking to him for a while now.

“What’s up, Rodney?”

Rodney looks flustered. “I – the thing, I fixed it. We’re done here. You can stop . . . spacing out.”

“Okay.” He gives Rodney a smile and a little shoulder-bump to show him that he’s not freaked out by the strangely homoerotic conversation from earlier. John’s cool like that.

Rodney seems to interpret the gesture slightly differently than John does, however, because he furrows his brow, tilts his chin up in that defiant way that he has, and leans forward to press his lips quickly to John’s.

Huh. “Huh.”

“Um, I, you seemed like.” Rodney presses his lips together unhappily, then does it again: leans forward and up, a kiss with no tongue but lots of lip (and isn’t that Rodney all over), wet and fast.

“So, would you say that’s a metaphorical act or a literal one?” John asks, when Rodney stops kissing him. “Because it seems to me – ”

And Rodney cuts him off with a third kiss – oh, _there’s_ the tongue, hot and slow, licking at John’s lips – and John sorta gets into this one, almost against his will. Because Rodney kisses kind of insistently, and it seems rude not to participate when the guy’s putting so much effort into it, and to be honest, Rodney’s mouth just feels good moving against his, all that heat and pressure and passion brought to bear on John’s body.

“Both,” Rodney says when they break apart this time. His lips already look red and swollen. “I’d say it’s both.”

John considers this for a long moment. Then he figures, what the hell, and goes in for kiss number four.

  
 **3) A Beginner's Guide to Interplanetary Economic Policy**

It happens every time they go to M7A-1A1, and they go there pretty often, so they’ve all gotten used to it. They usually go in this order:

1) Rodney kisses Teyla; Ronon kisses John.  
2) Teyla kisses John; Ronon kisses Rodney.  
3) Teyla kisses Ronon; John kisses Rodney.  
4) John, Teyla, Rodney and Ronon take turns kissing Tlyell, the guy who runs this coalition of towns near the stargate on M7A-1A1. He’s very thorough and very dedicated to the socioeconomic process (as laid out in their ancient laws of making out with strangers for sound political reasons).

And hell, they’ve all been through a lot together, so this is almost nice, like going to camp and playing silly games, like taking a little break from running and killing and dying. After the third or fourth time, they start to get goofy with it, shouldering each other aside and grabbing each others’ chins proprietarily. Teyla offers a sharp, courteous bow and a sly smile as she steps away from Rodney and toward John; Rodney licks his lips lasciviously and waggles his eyebrows as he grabs John by the ears and plants one on him. Sometimes they do it wet and messy, like movie-star kisses, flamboyant with ridiculous noises, and sometimes they slip each other some tongue just to be assholes. Ronon has a habit of bending John backwards until he has no choice – no choice! – but to raise one foot in the air and point his toe while clutching, womanish, at Ronon’s broad back.

Even Tlyell isn’t bad, as far as these things go. John’s gotten used to watching him share soft, familiar kisses with his legislative assembly (usually nine or ten people, which means something like forty kisses on their side each time). He smells really good – they make soap in his town – and slips John a little more tongue on each subsequent visit, which, as long as it leads to better trade relations, is fine with him. All in a day’s work.

So John doesn’t know why this visit – probably their tenth since they got to the Pegasus galaxy – should be any different, but it is. He’s felt Rodney’s lips on his and Rodney’s hands on his neck or back almost a dozen times, but it’s this time that matters, suddenly, something shifting and clicking in John’s brain as Rodney’s hand tangles in his hair. John’s making out with Rodney just like any other normal day, but this is the day that makes a difference: he tilts his head and Rodney’s tongue runs against his lips and he thinks, _huh._

When he pulls back, he’s relieved to see Rodney cock his head and smile slightly, pleased and puzzled. John feels his own mouth spread into a full grin in response. Impetuously, he gives Rodney a little wink followed by an air-kiss, pursing his lips and smacking the air between them. Rodney chuckles, looking happier than John’s ever seen him, and for just a second John feels like his heart could beat right out of his goddamn chest. Then he turns to stick his tongue in Tlyell’s mouth, back to business.

Later that day, after bringing all kinds of linens and vegetables and hygiene products back to Atlantis, John strolls by Rodney’s room. Rodney’s sitting at his desk, typing into his laptop.

“What’s up,” John says, nodding affably.

“Not a lot,” Rodney answers. He swivels in his chair, stands up, and walks across the room to where John’s standing by the door.

They kiss for a while, slow and soft, with little teasing bites. They’re good at it: they’ve had all that practice, after all. Later, they have sex, and even though that’s new territory and goes a little less smoothly, they agree to work on it together.

  
 **4) Emergency Procedures**

Rodney, without pause for hesitation, bends and fits his mouth to John’s. Their lips slide together, soft and wet, as warm breath courses from Rodney into John.

John’s eyes snap open. He makes a loud mmmmph! noise and pushes Rodney away.

“I’m alive, you idiot!”

“Oh,” Rodney says. “Didn’t look like it.”

“It really didn’t,” Ronon adds, supportively.

John glares at them both. Teyla is keeping quiet, but only, it appears, by sheer force of will.

“Next time,” he growls, “ask me before performing CPR.”

  
 **5) Afoot**

“All right, it’s official: you’re the best boyfriend ever.”

John chuckles and digs his thumbs into the arch of Rodney’s left foot, the sensation traveling up Rodney’s leg to tingle past his spine, and, wow. No one has ever done this for him without being well-paid in advance, which, as it turns out, makes a difference.

“Boooooooyfriend,” John repeats, eternally in junior high. Rodney rolls his eyes, but his sarcastic rejoinder escapes him as John rubs lines of pleasure into Rodney’s body from the feet up.

Sheppard rubs each toe in turn, grasping it firmly between thumb and fingers and stretching it slowly. It feels amazing.

Then, quite suddenly, Rodney notices another difference between Sheppard and a paid masseuse; your typical paid masseuse will seldom, it seems to him, lick between your toes. Rodney squirms and tries to draw his foot back, but Sheppard stops him with a firm hand on his ankle.

“What are you doing?” Rodney demands. “That’s not sanitary.”

“No?” John bends his head and presses his lips to the inside of Rodney’s foot, warm and wet against the muscle. Rodney squirms again.

“No. Also, that’s ticklish. And if you want to lick me, I can think of more auspicious places.”

Then John starts to suck on his little toe, and,

“Oh, oh _god_.”

The sensation that spiralled up his leg before has nothing on this: nothing on the ridiculous wave of pleasure that shudders through him at this, the smallest of touches, Sheppard’s hard palms cupping his ankle and his teeth scraping at the soft skin of Rodney’s toe. When he pulls his mouth off and goes back to the footrub, Rodney falls disappointedly back against the bed.

“Hey, where’d the kissing go?”

That little smirk that Rodney always wants to kiss right off of John’s face.

“I thought you were ticklish.” Just to be an asshole, John scrapes his nails lightly against the soft arch of Rodney’s foot.

“Ahhhhha, you bastard, I am going to kill you in an incredibly inventive way, oh jesus _stop_ – ”

And then the tickling does stop, and again it’s John’s lips, John’s mouth, John’s teeth and tongue: John sucking on his toes like he sucks Rodney’s dick. Even the look that John gives him from under his eyelashes is the look that Rodney usually sees during blowjobs, when he’s buried in John’s soft mouth and riding the edge of pleasure. Except now John’s got Rodney’s fourth toe between his lips and is suckling it gently, suction and tongue-pressure, and the sensation covers his whole body like an electric shock.

Rodney lets his head fall back against the bed, scrabbles inside his boxers and gets his cock in his hand. He’s hard and wet, suddenly, leaking and dark red.

“Christ,” John mutters, his voice low and dark. Then he licks Rodney’s toes back into his mouth and sucks him until Rodney comes, fucking his own fist.

Rodney pounces on John immediately afterward with an enthusiastic blowjob; Rodney’s always seen fit to reward good behaviour. John doesn’t take long to come in Rodney’s mouth, just a few short thrusts and then he’s grabbing at Rodney’s hair and groaning that nasal little whine that he gets when it’s really good.

Giving John’s dick one last affectionate smooch, Rodney wiggles up the bed to lie next to him, face to face.

“So, I didn’t know you were a foot fetishist,” he says, kissing John’s nose absently.

“I’m not.”

Rodney pauses. “Okay, I didn’t know _I_ was a foot fetishist.”

John punches him in the shoulder, grins at him, and slides their feet together.

  
 **6) Faster than 200 MPH**

Rodney’s got his mouth on John’s cock, wet and hot and tight, perfect suction on the head while his hand pumps the base. John, predictably, feels an orgasm coming on.

“I think the thrill is gone,” he says regretfully, as Rodney’s red cheeks hollow around his dick.

Rodney being Rodney, he pulls his mouth off (though he keeps pumping with his hand, thank god). “What do you mean, the thrill is gone?” he scowls.

“Wait a minute,” John temporizes, and comes on Rodney’s face. Rodney grimaces, wipes semen off his cheek, and shoves John onto his knees to return the favour. Then John can’t explain further, because of how he’s busy sucking Rodney’s dick, but after Rodney’s done fucking his face he brings the topic up again.

“I just don’t think it’s as exciting as it was,” he mourns, pulling his pants back up and moving toward the door of the storage closet.

“Hm,” Rodney says, before grabbing John by the wrist and shoving at John with his chest until he’s backed against the wall.

Then: Rodney’s lips on his throat, sucking at his Adam’s apple, licking across his jaw to his mouth. Rodney takes him over with tongue and lips and teeth, delving into John’s mouth with slow, overwhelming confidence, just settling in and taking what’s his. John groans under the onslaught and gives back as good as he gets, biting and licking and rubbing his tongue against Rodney’s tongue. They’ve done a lot of things in this storage closet, but not this: never this.

A long time later – three or four years at least – Rodney breaks his mouth away from John’s with an obscene, wet noise. He’s panting for breath, and his cheeks are even redder than before. When he speaks, he keeps his lips right there, millimetres from John's, his hot breath on John's face, his voice husky.

“That do for a while?”

John considers. “Yeah, I can work with that,” he answers finally, then clenches his hands in Rodney’s hair and reels him in for another kiss.

“You and your thrill-seeking behaviour,” Rodney mutters against his mouth, but then he shuts up and licks John’s bottom teeth and John thinks: yeah, this’ll do for now.

  
 **7) Daring Rescue, etc.**

John runs the jumper preflight and the system diagnostics while he waits for Rodney to show up. It’s another one of their daring rescues, ill-timed and ill-fated like always. John knows how luck works, knows it from long experience, and theirs is bound to run out eventually – fiery crash, captured by replicators, eaten by wraith – but he hopes it won’t run out today.

Rodney comes in, shutting the jumper hatch behind him. He sits down in the copilot’s seat and sighs deeply. The jumper is very quiet.

“We always seem to end up here, don’t we?” Rodney says.

“Yeah,” John answers, not taking his eyes from the HUD.

Beside him, Rodney turns in his chair so that he’s facing John directly; John half-turns to watch him, and their eyes meet. They hold each others' gaze for a long time, there in the quiet.

“Can I kiss you?” Rodney asks all in a rush, his voice rough and tired. There are dark smudges under his eyes and his lips look chapped. His thumb works against the side of his hand the way it always does when he’s nervous.

“I – ” John begins, then swallows. His throat clicks. “Yeah. Yes.”

Rodney does, leaning over, their knees bumping. It’s soft and brief, their mingled breath hot and stale. John lets himself have the sensation of Rodney’s wet mouth, his tongue on Rodney’s lips; lets himself have it just for a moment (just this once).

Then it’s over, and they pull apart awkwardly. Rodney wipes the excess spit from his lips with two fingers, then takes a shaky breath.

“So, daring rescue?” Rodney asks. John brings the HUD back up and swivels his chair to face forward again.

“Daring rescue,” he agrees, and takes the jumper up.

  
 **8) Nothing Irreversible**

They’ve been making out for almost an hour when Ronon and Teyla find them and pull them apart. Even then, they seem to keep gravitating towards one another, a constant slow-motion movie kiss with hands reaching to cup jaws and eyes looking like limpid pools and so forth. As a result, Ronon and Teyla end up having to frog-march them both back to the stargate, twisting their arms behind their backs and poking them often to keep them from making desperate, doe-eyed leaps into each others’ arms.

When they’re back in Atlantis, John makes his move, ducking Teyla’s grip and plowing into Rodney (and, by extension, Ronon) from the side. There’s a lot of rolling and grappling, and Rodney gets his tongue back into John’s mouth ( _god, god, hot wet slide so good_ ) for two or three blissful seconds before they’re pried apart again. John curses and kicks, but this time Teyla’s got him pinned.

“Sex pollen,” Ronon says shortly, keeping a knee in Rodney’s back for safety’s sake.

“Ah,” Keller says, raising an eyebrow, and bundles them off to the infirmary, a small army of doctors and nurses between them to keep them apart.

  
-

Eventually, it wears off.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lorne asks, sitting down next to John in the mess.

“No.”

“It happens to everyone, you know. My team hit some sex pollen a few months back. You wouldn’t believe what I did with my – ”

“I said, I didn’t want to talk about it,” John interrupts desperately.

“It’s just that – ”

“And we didn’t have sex.”

Lorne blinks. “If that’s how you want to play it, sir.”

John decides to be done eating.

-

“So, you and Doctor McKay were alone with the sex pollen for almost forty-five minutes, is that right?” Heightmeyer asks, concerned.

“Yes,” John says, through gritted teeth.

“John, I’m not going to force you to speak about your experience. But I’ve been with the SGC for a long time, and I’ve dealt with a lot of sex pollen cases, and I’ve found that it helps to talk about it.”

“We. Didn’t. Have. Sex.” John insists, crossing his arms over his chest.

Kate nods sympathetically and writes something down in her little notebook.

-

“So we’re going to have to change those IDCs,” John finishes, handing Chuck the list.

“Sure,” Chuck agrees, but keeps staring kindly at John, giving him that buck-up-trooper smile of his.

“We didn’t have sex,” John says quickly.

“You know, I had a friend who was on a team that got sex pollened . . .” Chuck begins.

That’s it. “We didn’t have sex!” he shouts.

The whole gateroom goes still.

Zelenka coughs. “Sex pollen is actually a well-documented – ”

“It wasn’t sex pollen!” Hearing the desperation in his voice, John deflates. “It was . . . making out pollen, or something. Nowhere past second base, okay?” He turns to survey the gateroom with a dark glare and raises his voice. “Is everyone okay with that?”

Silence.

“Great,” John mutters.

-

It was so hot in that field, the smell of the flowers heavy in the air, the warm bump of Rodney’s shoulder against his, the grass – the grass, which looked so soft, and John suddenly wondered what it would feel like on his bare feet, how it would feel to just dig his toes into the dirt and feel the cool green on his sun-warmed skin, and Rodney –

Rodney, when John turned, was smiling at him. Beaming at him, like he’d just figured out how to unlock the secrets of the universe. And it seemed like the most natural thing in the world, to reach out when he’s always chosen not to, to take Rodney’s hand in his like a completed circuit.

He felt himself grinning like a goof, but didn’t care. “C’mere,” he said, and Rodney did, and it was sweet, and soft, and John got lost in it.

“This is nice,” Rodney said against his mouth, a few minutes later. It was: warm sun, bright flowers, the cool long grass that they could sink down into while they lipped at each other, slowly, each soft little lick taking as long as it needed to take. Each moment was full of sensation: the caress of Rodney’s blunt fingers against his neck, the gentle, barely-there flicker of their tongues, the sound of their breathing, breathing into each other, like a heartbeat. Everything slowed down, and the whole world became one long, sensual press of their mouths together.

He’d barely had enough time to explore Rodney’s lower lip sufficiently, mapping it with his tongue; Rodney’s upper lip still had secrets to tell, though, and despite fifteen or so minutes spent exploring the area, John felt that his knowledge of Rodney’s jawline was still woefully incomplete.

He’d just slipped his fingertips under the hem of Rodney’s shirt – still slow, so slow, lost in the steady, shifting pressure of Rodney’s lips on his – when Ronon and Teyla showed up.

-

“I can’t take it anymore,” John says, face buried in his hands.

“I know,” Rodney mutters, pacing the floor of John’s room.

“They all assume we had sex.”

Rodney stops pacing and meets his eyes. “Well,” he begins.

“What? Rodney, don’t make me say it to you, too. We just made out!”

“Well, but, it was still quite – intimate, don’t you think? It was almost an hour, and you did that thing with your – ”

“Okay!” John interrupts, standing up and holding out his hands to forestall Rodney’s description. “Okay, fine, but it doesn’t mean the same thing. Everyone’s acting like it’s a big deal, and it’s not – we don’t have to – we’re not traumatized.” There’s nothing irreversible about kissing. There’s nothing final about it. It doesn’t require them to talk about it. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he finishes lamely.

“I, it doesn’t – ” Rodney’s mouth snaps closed on the mishmash of words that are trying to escape it. Then his brow furrows, and his hands still, and he leans in and kisses John.

Just like that, it all comes back with great crushing immediacy: the hour spent wrapped around each other caressing, the way their mouths fit together, the little sighs that Rodney breathed into his mouth, as if kissing John was the greatest pleasure he could imagine.

This kiss is like those ones: soft, slow, gentlemanly. World-changing.

“Oh,” John says, a few minutes later.

“Yeah,” Rodney agrees, nodding quickly.

  
 **9) in the grey dawn**

John isn't awake: in fact, he's dreaming, something about long grey corridors with low ceilings. In his dream, Teyla keeps pulling him forward, her hand clutching his, but the thing they're looking for keeps receding from their sight, is always gone when they get there.

Then, in his dream, McKay - was McKay there before? - stops him with a hand on his shoulder and puts his warm mouth on John's, lips wet and slow. Around him, the scene changes: the grey corridor is filled with his stuff, his desk, his couch, his nightstand.

John almost pushes Rodney away, because they _don't have time for this_ , they have to get somewhere (John doesn't know where; Teyla's disappeared) but McKay's mouth on his is soft and insistent, so they keep on kissing slowly, a warm press, a shared breath, tongues just barely touching. He's lying down, he realises: his back pressed into a soft bed. The warmth seeping into his body (he was cold, so cold, running) is from McKay's body over his.

Rodney's hand moves from his shoulder up to cup his neck, and the last shards of the dream fall away at the touch. John flutters his eyes open a little, then closes them again; it's still dark outside. Probably time to get up.

John slides a thigh between Rodney's and keeps kissing him, so sweetly, the vapour-trails of sleep still clinging to him. Then Rodney pulls back softly and sighs and rubs his cheek against John's.

"Morning," Rodney mutters into John's throat, placing another soft kiss into the hollow of his collarbone.

"S'too early," John whispers in reply, keeping his eyes closed, not wanting to wake up all the way.

He falls back to sleep, waiting for the alarm, with Rodney still lying half on top of him. He doesn't dream.


End file.
